


The 13th Street Watch House

by LaMaupin



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaMaupin/pseuds/LaMaupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The agents of the Warehouse in Ankh-Morpork are charged with protecting the disc from dangerous artifacts. Tipped off to some nefarious happenings in the city, they must try and figure out what's going on, and whether they can trust the former Warehouse agent who is trying to help them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Men At Arms

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because I thought that Ankh-Morpork would be the perfect place for the Warehouse. Mostly just that, so a knowledge of Discworld is not necessary. Set during the events of the AM City Watch books starting with Men At Arms. Obligatory disclaimer that I don’t own anything Warehouse or Discworld related, etc. etc.

Constable Myka Bering ran through the streets of Ankh-Morpork, (well to say streets was rather generous, as they were more like alleys in this part of the Shades,) chasing a shadowy figure. She knew Claudia was behind her, although the Lance-Constable was nearly a block back, leaving it up to Myka to not lose their quarry in the maze of dark alleys. So she ran, pushing her long legs are hard as they could go, around corners and through gardens and even over a couple of walls, slowly gaining ground.

They had been investigating an artifact, a weapon that had been stolen from the Assassins Guild: the gonne, an artifact that drove the user insane with the power to kill. They had tracked it to an Assassin with an obsession with the rightful king of Ankh-Morpork, but then Captain Vimes of the Night Watch and his men had gotten involved, which had complicated matters, because while Myka and the other Warehouse agents were technically members of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, Captain Vimes wasn’t actually aware of that fact, and it was best kept that way. 

And then the idiot with the artifact had decided to shoot the Patrician in front of half the city watch at Captain Vimes’ wedding, and things went all to hell. Pete and the new guy had followed the Assassin and Vimes down into the old sewers to try to snag the artifact, and when Myka surveyed the scene, she had noticed someone in black leaving a little too quickly, which had lead to her current situation, because if Myka had learned anything in her time in the Watch prior to being recruited to the Warehouse, it was that anyone lurking suspiciously around a crime scene was probably guilty of something.

As she pushed herself over a small wall and followed her quarry through one of the Seamstresses Guild’s Houses of Negotiable Affection, Myka remembered just how much she hated chases. “City Watch! Out of the way!” she yelled as she dodged several of the ladies and their clients, her legs burning, and her breath starting to catch in her lungs. Up the two flights of stairs they went. At the top, Myka saw the figure clamber out of a bedroom window onto the roof of the next building. Myka followed, hastily shouting an apology to the very startled looking couple that had been occupying the room. 

Up and over the roof and over the short gap onto the next they ran, one after the other, Myka slowly gaining ground, until they reached a particularly wide alley that couldn’t be easily jumped over. The constable raised her crossbow and slowly approached the figure, who was standing on the edge of the roof, as if considering the three story drop below.

“In the name of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, you are under arrest!” Myka declared, less authoritatively than she would have liked due to the raggedness of her breath. 

The figure turned around to face the constable, hands raised, revealing a woman with dark hair and pale, delicate features. Recognition tugged at Myka, but it took her a moment to place the face staring back at her, because she had only seen the small, faded iconograph that had been in the “People to Watch Out For” section of the manual.

“You’re HG Wells,” Myka leveled her crossbow at the woman, receiving only a slight nod and a smirk for confirmation. “What were you doing in Sartor Square?” Myka demanded.

“I was out for a morning stroll through the city. It was pure coincidence that I happened to be there when the Patrician was attacked. Surely there’s nothing illegal about that?” the other woman asked a bit too innocently. Myka felt like she was being toyed with, which she did not enjoy, and she was not about to play along.

“There is when you’re wanted for the deaths of three watchmen in that city.” 

HG cocked her head to side and laughed ruefully. “Is that how they’re telling it these days?”

“What does that mean?”

“Just that there’s always more than one way to tell a story.”

Myka was curious about what she meant, and she felt herself lower her crossbow ever so slightly, but she didn’t have time to play games. 

“You still haven’t answered my question. What were you doing at the Square today? Because I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“I would say I was attending a society wedding, but it seems I can get nothing past you, Constable Bering. The truth it is then.” Myka was taken aback by the fact that HG Wells knew her name, but she her desire for a proper explanation of the day’s events overrode it, so she let the other woman continue. 

“There have been some rumblings, among certain unsavory elements, that something big is about to happen here. Someone is collecting artifacts and releasing them into the world, and that is something that neither you nor I can abide. So I came back to the city to investigate. I was on the trial of the same artifact as you were today, which is why I was at the Square. Difficult as it may be for you to believe, I was trying to assist you.”

Just then Claudia came bursting onto the roof, having finally caught up to them, her standard issue short sword pointed at their quarry. 

“Sorry I’m late, took me forever to find the right building. Thanks for waiting for me to snag this baddie.” 

Claudia’s rather sudden appearance startled Myka, making her realize just how entranced she had been by HG’s voice. She was still suspicious of her motives, because it took more than a couple of cryptic comments to make Myka Bering trust a wanted murderer, but there was something about her that unsettled Myka, and made her want to believe what she was being told. If nothing else, it was useful information, which was something that was often in short supply.

“Actually Claud, she was just telling me-“ but HG cut Myka off.

“That would be my cue to leave. It was ever so nice meeting you Constable Bering, Lance-Constable Donovan.” With that, the mysterious woman nodded at them and stepped off the edge of the roof. 

By the time they got to where she had been standing, she was already gone, disappearing down a maze of alleys. 

“How did she survive that fall?” Claudia asked.

Myka looked down, assessing the scene. “She must have caught herself on that window sill and then dropped onto that cart.” She pointed to the delivery cart parked in front of the building. “Dammit.” She hated having to return to the Warehouse empty handed, especially when she had been so close to getting some real information.

“Wait, Mykes, was that…” Claudia trailed off, trying to place the familiar face.

“HG Wells…Yeah it was.” 

“What’s she doing back in the city? And why was she in Sartor Square? And what did she say to you?” Claudia questioned. Myka studied the streets below, trying to pick out the moving figure of HG Wells, but she had disappeared and even the midday sun couldn’t help Myka find her.

“She said she wants to help us. She said she was chasing the same artifact we were to try and return it to the Warehouse.” 

“Try and use it to destroy the world more like,” Claudia said as she sheathed her short sword and headed towards the window she had used to get to the roof. 

“I don’t know, Claud” Myka replied, following Claudia back into the house. “I don’t know what she’s up to, but she seemed like she’s really trying to help. She told me someone is collecting artifacts and sending them out into the world. It makes sense. I mean, how else would something as powerful as the gonne make it out of the Assassin’s Guild?”

“A crazy dude with a swamp dragon, maybe?” Claudia retorted, and Myka could feel her rolling her eyes as they made their way out onto the street. She was surprised when Claudia turned to face her, a resigned look on her face. “I don’t know Mykes, do you really think HG Well’s was telling the truth? She is wanted in the deaths of three Warehouse agents, which doesn’t exactly make her the most trustworthy source in my book.”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t know what it is, but it seemed like she was really trying to help us. I don’t trust her, but it felt like she was telling the truth.” She didn’t have a reason other than a gut feeling that HG didn’t mean to hurt them. Maybe this was how Pete felt when he got vibes. She didn’t like it, but it was better than the nothing they had otherwise.

Claudia met Myka’s eyes and nodded. “Alright then. If you say she’s telling the truth, I believe it. Now we just have to come up with a way to tell Artie that the Warehouse’s most wanted is back in town and we let her get away without him murdering us.”

The thought of telling Artie what had happened turned Myka’s stomach, because it would threaten the hard earned trust Artie had in her.

“Yeah…How about we go find out what happened to the boys before we head back to the Warehouse? Knowing Pete, they’re probably lost in those old sewers by now.”

***

They caught up with Pete and the new guy outside of the Assassins Guild.

“Dude, what happened? Did a troll get his hands on that thing?” Claudia asked when she saw the splintered remains of the gonne that they had neutralized. 

“Naw,” Pete replied. “Just that big corporal. Turnip? He killed Dr. Cruces and smashed the gonne to keep anyone else from using it.”

“Carrot, Pete. His name is Carrot.” Myka said. “And what do you mean he killed Dr. Cruces? What does the head of the Assassin’s have to do with this?”

“Turns out Cruces was the baddie almost all along. He killed the guy who stole the gonne and used it to try and put Corporal Rutabaga on the throne. Something about him being the rightful king of Ankh-Morpork.” Pete shrugged and handed the remains of the artifact to Steve. “Artie’s going to be upset that we weren’t able to snag it before Cabbage smashed it, but we got swarmed by angry Assassins and it was all we could do not to be inhumed.”

“Yeah, Artie’s really not going to be happy about this one,” Myka sighed as they headed back towards the Warehouse.

***

“What do you mean you let HG Wells get away?” Myka did her best not to shrink away from Artie’s wrath as he fumed around his office. He had been able to live with the gonne being destroyed, because at least they had managed to snag the remains, but he was very much not happy about Myka’s report of the day’s events.

“Well I didn’t let her get away, so much as failed to prevent her escape,” Myka said in a futile attempt to placate her boss. “Besides, I don’t think she trying to hurt us. She said she was tracking some other person who’s stealing artifacts and releasing them.”

“That’s a likely story. She probably just wanted the gonne for herself.” 

Myka could see the sense in what he was saying, but she couldn’t help but think that his reaction was a bit over the top. 

“If she had wanted the gonne, don’t you think she would have gone into the sewers after it? She said she was trying to help us, and I believe her.” Myka could tell that she was losing Artie, but she wasn’t about to back down now.

“That woman,” Artie practically spat the word as he finally stopped pacing and gave Myka a withering look, “is not to be trusted. Under any circumstances. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Myka looked away, knowing that Artie could see right through her evasion.

“Good. And don’t forget it. Because next time you let HG Wells slip through your fingers you’re going to be on inventory duty for year.”

Taking that as her cue to leave, Myka nodded and left Artie’s office. She knew she shouldn’t trust HG Wells, she was a Person to Look Out For after all and she had caused the deaths of the agents that had worked in the Warehouse before her, but Myka couldn’t shake the feeling that HG had been right, and that there was more going on with the gonne than a crazy dude with a swamp dragon and an ambitious Assassin.

***

Commander Samuel Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch was not happy. Since the damned Patrician had promoted him to Commander of the Watch, it seemed like all he did was paperwork, and the only thing he hated more than paperwork was paperwork that didn’t add up.

According to the pay slips that he signed each week, he was paying for four constables and a sergeant to staff the 13th Street Watch House, which he was nearly certain didn’t exist. He had been in the Watch for twenty odd years and he had never heard of a 13th Street Watch House. In fact, he had never heard of a 13th Street in the city, and he could navigate every street in the damned place with his eyes closed.

He had asked the Patrician about it, the Vetinari had told him that there are some things that were above his pay grade, and his own attempts to investigate came up empty. So now he sat in his office, wondering just what would happen if he stopped signing the papers related to the mysterious watch house.

“Commander Vimes. It has come to my attention that you have been looking for some information.”

Vimes looked up with a start. He could have sworn he didn’t hear anyone come in, but the woman standing in front of him proved otherwise. She had the dark skin of someone from Howondaland, with a mass of dark hair piled on top of her head, but she dressed like one of the old ladies from Cockbill Street where he had grown up. It had been a long time since Vimes had seen someone be quite so imposing in pink tweed, and the part of his brain responsible for preventing certain death kicked in and he shot to attention faster than he would have thought possible, knocking over his chair in the process.

“Yessir,” he said, adopting much the same tone he did while talking to Vetinari and looking just past her left ear. “Is this about the 13th Street Watch House, sir?”

“Yes. I generally don’t hand out knowledge of it’s existence, but I fear if I don’t tell you, you’ll find it yourself. Someone will be sent over to take you there tomorrow, and I’m sure I can count on your discretion in this matter.”

“Yessir.” There was a crash outside his door, and the sound of Corporal Nobbs swearing came up the stairs of the Watch House. By the time he looked back at the woman, she was gone, even though Vimes could have sworn that he only looked away from a second.

It was half-past noon the next day when a knock came at his office door. He had almost forgotten about his visitor the night before until a solemn faced you man in a watch uniform who he didn’t recognize opened the door. 

“Who are you then?” Vimes asked.

“Constable Steve Jinks. Mrs. Frederic sent me to escort you to the Watch House.” The young man replied, not at all phased by Vimes’ gruff demeanors.

“Mrs. Frederic is the scary lady in the pink tweed?” Vimes liked having a name to put to the face, and his inner policeman was already working to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“The very same.” Jinks replied as he lead the way out of Pseudopolis Yard into the busy streets of the city.

Vimes followed Jinks through a maze a twisting alleys off of Treacle Mine Road, past Unseen University and the Tower of Art and into the heart of the Shades. Vimes could have sworn that he knew every inch of Ankh-Morpork, but as they made their way towards a small door set into the side of an unassuming building, he realized that he had lost his sense of direction several turns ago and only had a vague idea where they were, something that made him very uneasy.

As they approached the door, it swung open and a stout man with the grumpy face and stripes of a sergeant stepped out to meet them. 

“Commander Vimes. I was wondering when you’d finally catch up with us. I’m Sergeant Nielson, agent in charge of the Warehouse.” Vimes looked at the sergeant, trying to keep the confusion off of his face as he was shown through to a tunnel that lead down into darkness.

“What’s this about a warehouse? I thought this was a Watch House? Is this some prank pulled by the bloody dwarves?”  
“It’s no prank, but much of the Warehouse is underground, not unlike dwarf mines,” Sergeant Nielson explained as the tunnel opened into a warmly lit office space. “The Watch House is just a cover to recruit personnel and discourage criminals. In reality, this is a warehouse designed to house dangerous artifacts and keep them out of the city.”

The pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place for Vimes as he looked around the office at the three other constables spread out throughout the room. “Artifacts like the gonne?” he asked.

“Exactly like the gonne. Objects imbued with power through some event. We hunt down artifacts that are potentially harmful and keep them here, away from the public. I like to think of the Warehouse as Ankh-Morpork’s Attic.”

Vimes watched with amusement as the other watchmen mouth along with Nielson as he said “Ankh-Morpork’s Attic.” 

“Who are these lot then?”

“These are the Warehouse agents responsible for keeping the city safe,” Nielson replied, obviously annoyed at the mockery. Vimes could tell that Nielson was straining to make a good impression, but he knew that this wasn’t a place were discipline was highly valued, which made him like the grumpy old sergeant despite himself.

“Constable Steve Jinks you’ve already met.” The man who had shown him to the Warehouse nodded amiably at Vimes. “The rest of this lot are Constable Pete Lattimer,” Nielson gestured at a dark haired man sprawled across a sofa, “Constable Myka Bering,” a serious looking woman leaning against a desk, “and Lance-Constable Claudia Donovan,” a young woman with short red hair who was tinkering with something mechanical. Recognition tugged at Vimes when she looked up from her work.

“Didn’t I arrest you last year for breaking into the print-maker’s guildhall?” 

Lattimer laughed and the young woman shrugged before turning back to her work. “I put everything back. Eventually.” 

“Never mind them. They’re trouble makers and not the reason you’re here.” Nielson ushered him through the office and out a door in the far wall onto a balcony. It over looked an enormous cavern that stretched into the darkness. Vimes had never seen a space so large, and wondered how much of the city was over the Warehouse. Shelves were packed into all the available space, filled with stuff, and a large windmill turned lazily in the distance. 

“This is why you’re here, Commander Vimes. Mrs. Frederic thought that it was time you know what we do.” Nielson explained as Vimes tried not to gape at the impossible sight before him. “She thought that it was time you see endless wonder.”


	2. Feet of Clay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the events of Feet of Clay. The agents attempts to track down an artifact uncovers a nefarious plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory disclaimer about how I don't own anything Warehouse or Discworld related etc. etc.

Myka was glad to be back in Ankh-Morpork. She and Pete had been in Pseudopolis for nearly a week tracking down an artifact, which was a week longer than they had planned, but they had finally snagged Bloody Stupid Johnson’s protractor. Somehow BS Johnson had managed to set pi equal to three, to avoid messy calculations, and his protractor had a tendency to bend reality around it to accommodate the new definition. That had made snagging it a lot more difficult that they had anticipated, because it was surprisingly hard to find a small object at the center of a skewed reality well. But they had managed it, and it was good to back on familiar ground. 

They returned their borrowed horses to the stables and were making their way back to the Warehouse when Pete spotted CMOT Dibbler’s sausage cart and decided it was a good time for an afternoon snack. 

“I don’t understand how you can eat those,” Myka said as Pete paid for two sausage in a buns. “I’m pretty sure they don’t qualify as meat…”

“Hey, I’m cutting my own throat here to procure top of the line sausage at such low prices to good citizens such as yourselves!” Dibbler protested as he handed over the sausages in question.

“Yeah Mykes, these are the best sausages in the city,” Pete said, starting in on the first sausage as they continued on towards the Warehouse. “I’m so glad we’re back home. Pseudopolis is great and all, but they don’t know how to make good food to save their lives.”

“Weren’t you the one couldn’t get enough of those pastries?” Myka shot back at him. “I’m pretty sure I recall something about them being the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“I’m mean they were good, for Pseudopolis, but the food there doesn’t have nearly enough burnt crunchy bits,” Pete replied, his mouth full.

“They don’t need burnt crunchy bits, because they use real meat.”

“Exactly. And it’s not nearly as good as Dibbler’s sausage in a bun.”

Myka rolled her eyes at that, but there was no use in further argument, because she knew she would never get him to appreciate fine cuisine, but he brother she never had, and she loved him all the more for his stubborn defense of Ankh-Morpork street food.

***

“What took you two so long? I was expecting you back days ago.” Artie grumped at them when they got back to the Warehouse.

“C’mon Artie, how about a ‘Thank you for risking your lives tracking down a dangerous artifact in a strange city’?” Pete replied playfully.

“That’s your job isn’t it?”

“Sorry Artie, it took longer to snag the protractor than we thought it would, so we got delayed,” Myka explained. “Did something happen while we were gone?" 

“Did something happen? Of course something happened!” Artie picked something off of his desk and tossed it at Myka. She caught it, noting that it was just a plain white candle, similar to those used to light Artie’s office.

“What is that? A candle from Mr. Hong’s Three Jolly Luck Take-Away Fish Bar or something?” Pete asked sarcastically.

“No. I snagged most of those years ago,” Artie said. “That is a candle with arsenic in the wick that was used in an unsuccessful attempt to kill the Patrician last week.”

“Okay, well we obviously missed an exciting week, but what does this have to do with us?” Pete was right, if a poisoned candle had been used and not an artifact, they could just let Commander Vimes deal with it.

“Nothing. Claudia and Steve are dealing with the artifacts the vampire who organized the assassination attempt left behind after Vimes killed him, but I need you two to deal with the golem king that was used to make those candles. I believe its chem might have artifact properties, and it seems to have disappeared.”

Myka was familiar with the lumbering clay golems that were employed throughout the city who worked around the clock without sleep or food because they had religious words in their heads that animated them, but she had never heard of them having a king.

“A golem king? I thought it was illegal to make any new golems,” she asked, “and why would its chem be any different from the others? Aren’t the words all the same?”

“It is. The golems got together and made a new one, a king to rule them, but it went crazy and started killing people. Vimes’ men destroyed it, but I think the words the golems gave it might have driven it insane, which may have made the chem an artifact,” Artie explained. “So go. Find it.” He handed each of them a file and then shooed them out of the office.

“He wasn’t kidding,” Pete said as they left the Warehouse and made their way towards Leena’s Boarding House to drop their things off and change out of their dirty, travel worn clothes. “We really did miss one hell of a week.”

***

“I don’t think the chem is here,” Myka said, sifting through the broken pieces of pottery that had once been the golem king. They had started their search at the candle factory that had been the sight of the fight between the golem and the watch, which was quickly proving futile. 

“Artie did say that it had gone missing,” Pete replied, rather unhelpfully.

“Well we can confirm that. But who would have taken it?” She asked, standing up and brushing the fine white clay dust from her hands. They had already talked to the watchmen who had been involved in the golem investigation, and they hadn’t seen the offending chem either.

“Maybe one of the other golems took it? One of the ones that helped make the king golem.” Pete said as they emerged from the factory into the damp autumn day.

“It’s possible. I guess we had better start interviewing all of the golems in the city then.” Myka didn’t relish that idea. Canvassing was hard enough with people who could talk, but golems could only communicate through writing, which would make an even slower process, but it was the only lead they had.

“There you are mistaken,” said a voice from behind them. Myka turned, drawing her standard issue short sword and leveling the point at the familiar figure that emerged from an alley. HG Wells put her hands up and stepped towards Myka. She appeared unarmed, but Myka kept her sword pointed at her all the same; the former Warehouse agent had been trained by the Assassins Guild, and was deadly with or without a weapon.

“What does that mean?” Myka asked, forcing HG to back into the wall behind her with the point of her sword.

“Just that you won’t find the artifact with the golems,” HG replied, a smirk playing at her lips.

“And how do you know that?” Pete asked, pointing his crossbow at her. “I bet you took the chem and are planning to use it to destroy the city or something.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not a gambler then, Agent Lattimer,” HG said without taking her eyes off of Myka, something she was acutely aware of. “I don’t have the chem, but I know where you can find it, and I’ll tell you where it is if you would kindly stop pointing those weapons at me.”

“What’s in it for you?” Pete asked. “How do we know that you’re not lying? Or that you won’t just steal the chem from us and kill us, like you killed those other agents?”

“Agent Lattimer, if I wanted the chem for myself I would already have it. As I told Agent Bering previously, I would like to assist you.” HG paused and drew a breath before continuing. “The truth is that what happened to those other agents was an accident. It was my fault, but I never intended for them to be killed. I left the city to escape the ghosts that haunt me here, but I’ve never felt that I belonged anywhere but the Warehouse. I’ve been adrift ever since I left, and so I want to return. The Warehouse is my purpose, and I want your help returning to it.” 

Pete had a point. As much as Myka wanted to believe that HG was just tying to help them, they couldn’t trust her. But Myka knew how it felt to not quite belong anywhere, and she knew how it felt to find belonging at the Warehouse with the ragtag family that it assembled. A belonging that she had never felt in the Watch, or even at her father’s printing shop. Myka knew that if she were ever forced to leave the Warehouse she would do everything in her power to return.

“Pete, come here.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him a couple of yards away from HG. “And you, stay there,” She said to the former agent, brandishing her sword in HG’s direction.

“What are you thinking Mykes?” Pete asked. “You can’t possibly think it’s a good idea to go with her. 

“I don’t know.” She took off her helmet and ran a hand through her unruly curls. “I think it’s the golems won’t tell us anything and HG’s the only lead we have right now. It can’t hurt to at least see what she has to say.”

“I guess.” Pete agreed hesitantly.

“What is it, Pete? Are you getting a vibe about this?” Myka felt in her gut that this wasn’t a trap but she didn’t trust her gut nearly as much as she trusted Pete’s vibes. 

“No, I just don’t trust her. She a person to look out for for a reason.” Pete glanced back over his shoulder at HG, who hadn’t moved, and sighed. “But I guess you’re right. She’s the best lead we have and I really don’t want to spend the next week interviewing golems. Let’s see what she has to say.”

They moved back to where HG was standing, and Myka sheathed her sword, although Pete kept his crossbow at the ready.

“Alright, talk.” Pete said.

“There’s been talk around the city of someone who is selling strange objects and weapons on the black market recently. I think someone’s been stealing artifacts and selling them to the highest bidder, and I think that same person stole the king golem’s chem and is planning on selling it. There is to be an auction tonight at the Pork Futures Warehouse.” HG explained.

“That’s Chrysoprase’s territory. Is he behind this?” Myka knew about the troll mob’s operations, but Warehouse business rarely took them to that part of town. Trolls generally saw it as too dwarfish to use artifacts, so they tended to destroy rather than use those they found.

“Oh I’m sure he takes a cut, but the trolls aren’t behind this. Chrysoprase doesn’t know enough about the Warehouse to be stealing and selling artifacts.” HG ran her hand through her hair, letting it effortlessly fall back into place. “Someone else is behind this.”

“Whoever it is, we have to stop them before an artifact ends up in the wrong hands. We’ll raid the auction tonight and that will be that.” Pete’s voice was filled with a confidence that Myka didn’t share. This whole operation felt too well put together for a simple snag.

“I can get you into the auction tonight if you wish. Meet me by the Pork Futures Warehouse tonight at 10. And for god’s sake, don’t wear those uniforms of yours.” HG turned back towards the alley behind them and started walk away.

“What’s in it for you?” Myka called after her.

HG turned back, her face concealed by the shadow of the buildings on either side of her. “Just a good word with the regents. Like I said before, all I want is to return to the Warehouse.”

With that, HG disappeared into the alley, leaving Pete and Myka standing in the street, more confused than before.

***

“Stop that, you two. This is not the time for your bickering.” Artie chided Pete and Myka as they stood in an alley close to the Pork Futures Warehouse, waiting to rendezvous with HG.

Artie had not been happy with their failure to apprehend HG, but after some convincing he had agreed that her lead was worth pursing. He had insisted on coming along, and Myka had to agree that this could be more than a two person snag.

The city bells had just stopped chiming ten and Artie was starting to get impatient. “Where is she? If I let you talk me into walking into a trap, both of you will be on inventory for a year.”

“That won’t be necessary, Sergeant Nielson.” HG resolved out of the darkness, dressed all in black, with her hair tied up in a severe bun. Myka realized she was staring, and forced herself to look away.

“Don’t let the Assassins catch you dressed like that. They hate it when people dress like them.” Pete’s attempt to lighten the mood fell flat, and the tension in the air remained firmly in place.

“It’s a good thing that I am an Assassin then, isn’t it Agent Lattimer?” HG replied, arching an eyebrow at Pete.

“Wait…You’re an Assassin? I thought you were a Warehouse Agent before you left the city?” Pete said, obviously confused.

“Not all agents are recruited from the Watch,” HG said, leading them towards a side entrance to the Pork Futures Warehouse.

Pete looked at Myka as they followed HG and Artie out of the alley. “I didn’t know that. Did you know that?”

“You really need to read the manual, Pete,” she replied, watching HG pick the lock and open the door.

“There’s another, identical door on the other side of the building. Two of you should go in here, while I unlock the other door. That way we can hit the auction from either side,” HG explained in a hushed voice.

“We should stay together. We wouldn’t want any surprises,” Artie protested, obviously not wanting to let HG out of his sight.

“I’ll go with HG,” Myka volunteered. “Give me the Leonard and at the first sign of trouble I’ll zap her.” HG seemed none too pleased by that prospect, but Artie agreed, and fished the Leonard out of his bag.

The Leonard was technically called A Device for Generating and Directing a Controlled Lightning Bolt, but they had taken to calling it after it’s inventor, Leonard de Quirm, who had been a genius inventor, but wasn’t very good a naming his inventions.

“Thank you, Agent Bering.” HG said as Myka followed her around the building.

“For what?”

“Believing me.” HG stopped in front of the other side door to the building. The sincerity in her voice startled Myka, and it was all she could do not to reach out and touch her.

“If the Warehouse has taught me anything, HG, it’s that things are rarely as simple as they seem,” Myka said.

HG gave her an appraising look, and Myka felt as if she was seeing right into her soul. She rubbed her neck and turned away from HG, but she could still feel the other woman’s eyes on her.

“Call me Helena,” she said when she finally looked away and started in on the lock.

The cold of the Pork Futures Warehouse came as a relief to Myka, even though it hadn’t been particularly warm outside. She could hear the sound of voices through the racks of pork that did not quite exist yet.

They crept closer, but Myka was unable to distinguish what was being said. Suddenly, she heard a loud bang, and what sounded like Pete shouting.

Myka raised the Leonard and ran towards the sound. She shouldered through some mostly extant pig carcasses to find Pete and Artie on the ground dazed.

HG ran up behind her, a pair of throwing knives in her hands, and went to the exit, to check if anyone remained while Myka checked to see if Pete and Artie were okay.

HG returned, shaking her head, as Myka helped Artie to his feet. 

“What happened?” Myka asked 

“Artie recognized the guy selling the artifacts and rushed him. Next thing I know we were looking at the ceiling and everyone was gone. He must have used an artifact to escape,” Pete said, dusting himself off.

“Who was it?” she asked Artie, somewhat concerned. Artie could be a grump, but she had never seen him so shaken up before.

“MacPherson.” Artie spat, inspecting the room for artifacts.

“Who’s that?” Pete asked. His own inspection confirming that no artifacts had been left behind.

“My former partner,” Artie explained. “He was expelled from the Warehouse and banished from the city fifteen years ago for stealing artifacts and selling them to the highest bidder. If he’s back in the city, it can only mean he’s planning something…I should have known it was him.”

“What do we do now, then?” Myka asked as they stepped out into the cool night air and inspected the empty street for any signs of MacPherson.

“I say we track him. He can’t hid from us forever,” Pete said.

“No, he’s too smart for that,” Artie replied, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Once he’s gone to ground we won’t find him. We have to figure out what he’s up to. I don’t suppose you have anymore information about this, Ms. Wells?” Myka could hear the contempt in his voice, but when she turned to see Helena’s reaction, the other woman was gone.

***

Myka walked back to Leena’s alone. Pete had gone straight back to the boarding house, but she had needed to pick something up from the Warehouse, so now she trudged through the dark streets by herself. She liked the city at this time of night, when the only people around were the night watchmen and the streets were as quiet and as peaceful as they ever got. Growing up, she had liked to sneak out at night just to wander the streets and soak in the city. Her father had caught her once, and had made her stop, but her father did not control her anymore.

Myka heard footsteps behind her, approaching faster than those of the regular denizens of this hour. She spun, reaching for a sword she was not carrying, but relaxed when a she recognized the figure that emerged from the gloom.

“HG…Helena…What are you doing here?” Myka demanded. She was more startled than anything by HG’s sudden appearance, but this game they were playing was starting to annoy her. Myka didn’t like being manipulated, and she wasn’t convinced she had yet had an honest interaction with the other woman.

“I just wanted to thank you again.” HG looked up at her, and for the first time Myka realized that she was taller than her. Myka was used to being taller than people, men and women alike, but there was something about the sheer presence of the former agent that had made her seem larger than she was. But now, standing in the chilly darkness, she seemed almost small to Myka, as if something had taken her suave confidence and left her vulnerable and alone. “It’s not often that people believe the best of me these days. One accident and a couple of deaths and you’re the villain it seems.” Her attempt at a joke fell flat, and she ran her hands through her hair nervously.

“What happened?” Myka asked softly.

“As I said before, it was an accident. I misjudged an artifact and it killed those agents. I was left holding the artifact with three corpses around me, so the evidence seemed incontrovertible and I was forced to flee,” Helena replied.

“No, what happened before that?” Myka repeated. “I read your file. You were one of the most competent agents the Warehouse has ever had. You were on track to have Artie’s job, and then one day you’re not. You’re too smart, and you were too good at your job, to let something like that happen. So what happened?”

Helena looked away and took a breath, and when she started to speak her voice felt far away and was barely more than a whisper.

“I had a daughter. Christina. My Christina. She was staying with my cousin Sophie in Sto Lat for the summer, to get her out of Ankh-Morpork and expose her to other children her own age. One day she was sick, so she stayed home. The men who came to rob my cousin’s house didn’t expect to find anyone home. Sophie fought them, but it didn’t do any good. They killed Christina. It was stupid and it was pointless and I was so, so angry. I became obsessed with trying bring her back. My obsession clouded my judgment and resulted in the death of those agents. The regents didn’t believe me and drove me out of the city, so I left, for good I thought. But I realized recently that I don’t want to be adrift any longer. I lost everything else, but I don’t have to lose the Warehouse.”

It was too dark for Myka to make out Helena’s face in any great detail, but her voice was thick with tears. For the first time since she had meet the infamous HG Wells, Myka felt like she was being completely honest, and Myka could feel her own heart breaking for her.

“I’m sorry.” Myka knew that the sentiment meant nothing in the face of such tragedy, but it was all she could think to say. She reached out, putting her hand on Helena’s arm, and she was startled when she felt the knife hidden in her sleeve. Whatever else Helena was, she was still deadly, and Myka knew she would do well to remember that, but she could already feel any misgivings she might have had about the woman slipping away.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She promised, squeezing Helena’s arm.

“Thank you, Myka” Helena said, giving her a small smile, before slipping away into the darkness once again.

Myka was left to return to the boarding house, wondering what she had just gotten herself into, and why she didn’t care.


	3. Jingo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the events of Jingo. Obligatory disclaimer about how I don't own anything Warehouse of Discworld related, etc. etc.

Myka woke suddenly to a pounding on her door and a general commotion in the hallway outside her room. She was accustomed to waking while it was still dark, but the pitch blackness outside her small window told her that it was still several hours before dawn.

She opened her door to find a bleary eyed Pete and a confused looking Claudia standing in the hallway of the boarding house while Artie pounded on Steve’s door.

“What’s going on?” She looked at Pete who just shrugged, and then at Claudia. 

“I don’t know. He was yelling something about islands and weathercocks a minute ago.” Claudia glanced down the hall to where Steve was shuffling out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I think he finally may have gone off the deep end. At this rate, he’ll wake the entire place up." 

As if on cue, a door at the end of the hallway opened. HG stepped out of her room, looking somewhat annoyed.

“And what, pray tell, is all of this commotion about, Arthur?” HG asked, articulating the thought they all were having.

“Official Warehouse business, which does not include you, Ms. Wells.” Myka felt a pang of guilt at the dismissive tone of Artie’s voice. It was her recommendation that had brought Helena back to the Warehouse after all, and Artie had barely spoken to her since Mr. Kosan had informed them of the regents’ decision.

“Seeing as I have been reinstated to the Warehouse, and have been awoken at this ungodly hour, I think I’ll stay, thank you.” Helena’s tone said that she wasn’t going to be dissuaded, and thankfully Artie didn’t press the point.

“Seriously Artie, what’s with the late night wake up call?” Pete asked. “I haven’t even had my three am sandwich yet.”

“An artifact that I’ve been tracking for years has finally surfaced, and we need to snag it before it’s lost again.”

“Can’t it wait until the morning? Or at least until I’ve eaten something?” Pete thought about his stomach more than the job sometimes, but Myka smiled despite herself.

“No. What part of that did you not understand?” Artie whacked the back of Pete’s head with the file he was holding. “Get dressed, all of you, and not in your Watch uniforms. I’ll explain on the way.”

***

‘On the way’ meant in a small boat being rowed out into the Circle Sea in near pitch darkness, lit only by the moon. Myka had done many strange things during her time with the Warehouse, but this was the first time that endless wonder had required rowing out to sea in the middle of the night.

“The island of Leshp has been reported several times throughout history, each time, it rises in the middle of the Circle Sea for a few days or weeks and then sinks again, not to be seen for centuries.” Artie was sitting in the stern of the boat, while Claudia sat in the prow squinting at a map and compass and the rest of them pulled the oars. “It is home to several potential artifacts, but we are going to snag the Weathercock of Djelibeybi." 

“How do you know that the island is back? Or that it even exists?” Steve asked. 

“Yes, Arthur,” HG put in. “If this island only just reappeared, and it hasn’t been seen in centuries, how will Lance Constable Donovan know where it is in order to navigate?”

Myka heard a thud behind and turned to find a rather flustered looking Claudia scrabbling for the compass in the bottom of the boat.

“Do I make you nervous, darling?” HG asked, and despite the darkness, Myka could hear the smirk in her voice.

“No.” Claudia shot back. “I’m not nervous. I just can’t read this damn thing in the dark.” 

Myka could feel the heat growing in her face, and she was glad for the darkness. The exchange was innocent enough, but the fact was that Helena made Myka nervous. In a way that was familiar but she hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since Sam.

“Enough of that.” Myka was relieved when Artie put an end to the banter. “The answer to your question is that the Weathercock is one of a matched pair. The one on the island sat atop the Great Pyramid of Djelibeybi, but there was a second one in Ephebe, which we happen to have in the Warehouse. The two always point directly at one another, so when Leshp rose tonight, the Ephebian weathercock spun around to point at Leshp. I just extrapolated the line where it was pointing out to the middle of the Circle Sea. Once we get close it shouldn’t be hard to miss the island that didn’t used to be there. Now be quiet, all of you, we don’t want anyone knowing that we’re here.”

They made the rest of the journey in silence, except for Claudia’s occasional course corrections, and it wasn’t long before they were beaching the boat on the new island.

Artie lead them through the ruins in the gray light of the pre-dawn. The remains of the buildings looked like they were from half a dozen different eras at least and were in the corresponding states of decay. 

They stopped in front of the building in the very center of the ruins, a stone tower that seemed to be the oldest structure still standing. Myka could make out the remains of intricate tile work on the façade, a geometric design in faded blues and greens that gave the impression of waves.

“So, where’s the weathercock?” Pete asked, looking around.

Artie pulled a large coil of rope out of his bag and tossed it at Pete. “At the top of this tower. You and Steve are going to retrieve it.”

Pete reconsidered the tower in front of them as Artie gave a second rope to Steve. “Isn’t there some sort of artifact that we can use to snag it?”

“No.” Artie replied. “The interior stairs were already gone the last time a Warehouse agent tried to retrieve the weathercock, and that was two hundred years ago, so the only way up is the scale the walls. Get climbing, you two." 

“Actually, Arthur, I don’t think there is any need for Agent Lattimer to make the climb,” Helena ventured.

“Of course there is, and if they don’t get going, we’re going to lose the cover of darkness.” Artie replied tersely.

“I just mean, part of the training at the Assassin’s Guild is scaling walls, so I would be the best choice for retrieving the weathercock,” Helena explained. “I have seen Agent Lattimer’s attempt at climbing fences, and if his ability to climb walls is anything similar, we will be here for quite a while.”

“I would be offended, but she’s right,” Pete replied. 

Artie gave Helena a long look, and then considered the lightening horizon. “Alright.” He said begrudgingly. “Agent Wells, you can retrieve the weathercock, but Agent Jinks will accompany you.”

Steve looked like he was about to protest, not wanting to climb the tower either, but Artie gave him a stern look, and put an end to it.

The two agents began their slow ascent of the tower wall, occasionally stopping to tie their ropes to conveniently placed stones that jutted out from the wall. Helena was several feet above Steve by the time they were a quarter of the way up, but Steve held his own, and they progressed steadily up the tower wall. 

“Wait,” Claudia said as they watched their ascent. “You said that other agents have been here before. Why weren’t they able to snag it?" 

“Don’t worry about that,” Artie replied, somewhat distractedly.

“Don’t worry about it?” Claudia asked incredulously. “What kind of answer is that? What happened to them?”

“Yeah, Artie,” Myka said, curious about the fates of their predecessors and concerned about what it meant for their mission. “Tell us what happened.”

“Fine, if you insist,” Artie grumbled. “Agents of the past two Warehouses have tried to retrieve this damn weathercock, but they have been unsuccessful at the cost of several lives. The last time this island rose, two agents died attempting to climb the tower, and the time before that an agent attempted to climb the stairs inside the tower and they collapsed, killing the agent and two others below him.”

“Well now I’m glad I didn’t climb the damn thing.” Pete said, obviously unhappy with Artie’s answer.

Pete’s grumbling was cut off by Steve repelling back down the building, stopping just short of the ground.

“There are other people on the island,” he warned. “There are some fishermen on the north side, but there are also a pair of seriously mean looking goons headed this way from the east.”

“Damn. You and Agent Wells stay here and secure the artifact,” Artie replied. Steve nodded and started climbing the wall once again, significantly faster this time. “Pete, Myka, go head off our mystery guests. Claudia, you’re with me.” Artie pulled the Leonard from his bag and handed it to Myka, while Pete unslung his crossbow from where it was strapped across his back and fitted a quarrel to the string.

“Ready?” Myka asked Pete as she let the Leonard charge.

“Yep. Let’s go get these baddies.” Pete turned and started walking away from the tower.

“Pete, that’s west.” Myka said, rolling her eyes at him as he huffed, spun around, and stalked in the opposite direction, muttering something about how not everyone could be a genius.

They wound their way through the ruins, on the look out for anything or anyone out of place, which, Myka reflected, was more difficult than it sounded on an island that had just arisen from the sea. The street they were on widened into a broad avenue, and they hugged the walls of the buildings on either side, listening for any signs of life.

Pete stopped abruptly in front of a narrow alley. He beckoned her over and jerked his head pointedly at the alley. She heard a faint scraping emanating from the darkness and then a hiss of pain followed by a whispered curse.

Myka nodded and they started down the alley. She silently cursed the way their boots crunched on the loose gravel. The alley ended abruptly, but a low stone doorway was set into the side wall, and from inside they could see the soft glow of a lantern. Pete counted down their entrance with his fingers. 

“Ankh-Morpork City Watch!” Myka rushed into the small room, Pete hard on her heels. She fired the Leonard at the two retreating figures, to no avail. Something must have alerted them to their presence, she though, once again cursing their boots.

She chased them out of the building and down another alley, but soon lost them in a maze of dark twists and dead ends. She found Pete out of breath several years behind her, and they retraced their steps, returning to the room they had found the intruders in. Pete righted the lantern, which had been knocked over during the confusion, while Myka examined the wall where the men had been working.

It was old, older than anything else they had yet encountered on Leshp, and was covered in Djelibeybian glyphs. A stone in the center of the wall at eyelevel had been removed, revealing a small chamber, the perfect size to conceal something in. She reached in, feeling around for anything that the others had missed, but they had left it empty.

“Hey Mykes, is this writing?” Pete asked, holding the lantern up to the glyphs on the wall.

“Yeah, it’s ancient Djelibeybian,” she replied, running her fingers over the symbols carved into the stone. Her Djelibeybian had never been good, and it had been a while since she had needed it, but she still recognized most of the symbols. “See this?” She tapped one of the glyphs. “This is the eye of Hast.”

“That’s the symbol used by the regents.” Pete put in, obviously confused.

“Yeah, and these,” Myka pointed to a pair of glyphs right under the eye of Hast, “these together mean something like ‘undying miracle.’”

“Endless wonder.” Pete looked at her, realization dawning. “Do you think this place has something to do with an old Warehouse?”

“Maybe. We should find Artie and tell him about this place.” Pete extinguished the lantern and they headed back out into the ruins. 

***

Finding Artie proved easier said than done.

When the got back to the tower, they found Steve and Helena repelling down the tower, weathercock in hand.

“What happened? Did you find those guys?” Steve asked as he untied his rope and coiled it around his arm.

“We found them, but not before they found something else.” Myka proceeded to explain what had happened.

“Interesting,” Helena said thoughtfully. “Warehouse 2 was in Djelibeybi before it was lost. It’s possible that there was an artifact associated with it on this island.”

“What do you mean it was lost?” Pete asked.

“If I remember my lore, the Djel river valley was under attack, and the Warehouse was threatened, so the regents of Warehouse 2 decided to close the Warehouse, with everything in it, so keep the artifacts safe. It has since been lost to history, although Djelibeybi has experienced many odd phenomena such as temporal distortions since, which could be linked to the presence of the Warehouse.” Helena explained.

“That’s all very interesting,” Steve interjected, “but we’ve got what we came for. We should go find Artie and get out of here, especially if those goons are still wandering around.”

“Yeah, we should get out of here,” Pete said. “I’m getting a bad vibe about this whole thing. Where did Artie and Claudia go?”

“They went back down to the boat to make sure it didn’t get compromised.” Steve answered. He wrapped the weathercock in a burlap sack they had brought, because there hadn’t been a static bag big enough for it, and slung it over his shoulder. As they started back towards the boat, Helena pulled out a long, thin tube with a quarrel poking out of one end.

“Is that a single shot crossbow?” Myka asked, pointing to the contraption. “I thought those were banned in the city.”

“It is. The Assassins will inhume anyone found with one, and your Commander Vimes has made it abundantly clear that he will do worse if he finds it first. But, we are not in the city, and I have always found the element of surprise to be far more advantageous than honor.” The steel in Helena’s voice surprised Myka. She knew Helena was damaged, but her capacity for moral ambiguity was deeper than Myka had expected. One moment she was a grieving mother, and the next a ruthless Assassin. While had become fast friends since Helena had returned to the Warehouse, Myka knew she was far from understanding the other woman.

They made their way back to the beach, finding Artie and Claudia clearing off the seaweed they had covered the boat with to make sure no one found it. Steve handed Artie the weathercock and he and Claudia went to launch the boat as Pete and Myka explained what they had found.

“Something was missing?” Artie asked, after they had finished their recitation of the morning events.

“I can’t be sure, but it seemed like they found whatever it was they were looking for.” Myka answered.

“Strange. I’ve never heard of anything Warehouse related on this island, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something. It’s possible there was something related to Warehouse 2 hidden there. You didn’t see them well enough to identify them?”

Before Myka could respond, she heard a rustle behind her and the soft thrum of a crossbow.

“Arthur, watch out!” Helena shoved Artie aside, discharging her single shot in the direction of their assailments. Myka spun around, firing the Leonard, hitting the man as he fell, Helena’s quarrel lodged in his throat. Everyone else had their weapons raised by then, but the other man had melted back into the ruins.

Myka turned back to see if everyone was okay, to find Artie on the ground somewhat stunned and Helena cursing, a crossbow bolt sticking out of her arm.

“We may not have gotten a good look at the guys we chased, but I would wager that this is one of them,” Pete said, while Myka helped Artie up. Pete checked the body for the artifact or any clues to who he was working for, which proved to be a fruitless task.

After some struggle righting the boat, which Steve and Claudia had dropped into the water upside down in the confusion, they managed to leave the island, rowing back towards Ankh-Morpork. The sun had finally risen, and the early morning light made the island sparkle as it receded into the horizon, short one weathercock.

***

“Bloody Hell!” Helena yelped as Dr. Calder drew the quarrel out of her arm.

“Didn’t you just say that you were accustomed to pain?” Myka asked as she watched Dr. Calder work. Artie had taken the weathercock back to the Warehouse, and the rest of the team had gone back to bed, but Myka had stayed up to make sure Helena was alright.

“Yes, well, I’m not accustomed to being impaled,” Helena shot back through gritted teeth.

“This is going to sting a bit, but it should help prevent an infection,” Dr. Calder said as she poured a thick green paste into Helena’s wound. The official Warehouse doctor, Vanessa Calder was actually a horse doctor, more accustomed to working with animals than people, but you were far more likely to survive an encounter with a vet than a surgeon in Ankh-Morpork, because the people who worked with horses were answerable to Chrysoprase the Troll, who rarely accepted terminal as an incurable condition.

Helena hissed in pain, but remained still, letting Dr. Calder wrap a bandage around her arm.

“You’ll need to change the poultice once a day, but you should be fine,” The doctor instructed, packing up her things. “You’re lucky, the bolt missed the bone and didn’t hit anything too important.”

“Thanks for stopping by on such short notice,” Myka said, following Dr. Calder out onto the porch of Leena’s Boarding House.

“That’s the job, and at least it wasn’t the middle of the night for a change,” Dr. Calder replied. “It’s always nice to get out of the stables for a bit. Is Artie around?” Myka knew that they saw each other sometimes, which Artie could be convinced that the Warehouse wasn’t going to implode without him.

“At the Warehouse,” Myka told her, “but he did take a bit of a fall during the mission, so he could probably use a check-up.”

“Well then, I had better go make sure he’s alright,” Dr. Calder replied, smiling as she walked away from the boarding house.

Myka closed the door and stepped back into the common room, where Helena was attempting to put her arm up in a sling with one hand. Myka took pity on her as she fumbled with the sling, and took the ends, tying them while Helena held back her hair.

“You know, Artie hasn’t exactly been kind to you since you were reinstated, and yet you nearly died for him today.” Myka said when she’d finished.

“Nearly died is a bit of an exaggeration.” Helena said, always the confident Assassin.

“But still. You risked your life for him.” Helena must have seen the question in Myka’s eyes, because her bravado melted away.

“Do you think so little of me?” She asked, the hurt in her voice going right to Myka’s gut. “I am an agent of the Warehouse, and I know what that entails. Arthur will come around eventually.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Myka stammered, wondering what it was about Helena that made all the words she so relied upon leave her. “I just meant that it was very noble of you.”

“I do have my moments,” Helena said, her air of confidence back as quickly as it had faded. Myka was suddenly away of how close Helena was, close enough to reach out and touch, a prospect that was at once exciting and terrifying. Before Myka could decide whether she wanted that or not, Helena was gone, heading up the stairs to her bed, leaving Myka alone to wonder just what sort of power it was that Helena had over her.


	4. Going Postal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the events of Going Postal. I know Going Postal isn't a AM City Watch book, but it worked better for my purposes than the actual Watch books. I've compressed the time line somewhat to suit my purposes, so it takes place several months after the last chapter. Obligatory disclaimer about how I don't own anything.

“Ook?” the Librarian asked as Myka handed him the book. It was a large volume, leather bound and heavy, with the title embossed in gold on the cover: An Esoteric History of Überwald. 

“Yes, it was very helpful. Thank you for the suggestion.” When she had first started visiting the library at Unseen University she had felt silly talking to the large Orangutan who was in charge, but he had been a wizard once, and he turned out to be very useful when it came to locating volumes in the near infinite L-space expanse of UU’s library. And there were times that even Claudia’s prodigious ability to locate information couldn’t match a library book.

“Ook, ook ook? Ook.” The Librarian considered the book in his hands and then looked at Myka questioningly.

“No, we didn’t notice any insanity, but I’ll let you know if we do.” The Librarian had warned her when she asked for the book that the author had gone nastily insane while writing it, and he had been curious if that would affect the readers as well. Myka hadn’t been too pleased about that possibility, but such was the job.

Most of the books in UU’s library could be considered artifacts to one degree or another, but when Myka had said as much to Artie, he had just muttered something about the ineptitude of wizards and told her not to worry about it. The more time she spent there, however, the more it seemed as if the library at UU was as good a place as the Warehouse to keep people from touching most of the books.

“And could you see if there’s anything about the second Warehouse? The one in Djelibeybi?” Myka asked. Being the curator of a library that contained every book that had ever or would ever exist meant that the Librarian knew about the Warehouse, but he could be trusted to be discrete.

“Helena,” Myka called the other agent over from where she had been inspecting a large atlas. “The banana?" 

“I’ll stop back later for the book, if you can find one,” Myka told the Librarian. She was acutely aware of how close to her Helena was standing as Helena rooted around in her bag for the offending fruit, finally pulling it out and handing it to the Librarian. “Thanks so much for the help.”

“Ook." 

“I wasn’t aware that you spoke Orangutan,” Helena said playfully as they left the library.

“I don’t. But it’s not that difficult to understand him,” Myka replied. She had never had difficulty understanding the Librarian, despite the fact that his vocabulary only consisted of one word.

“Well I suppose it is if you spend all your free time there,” Helena said, a smile playing at her lips.

“I do not spend all of my free time there, I just like books,” Myka rubbed her neck, suddenly self conscious. “I’m surprised you haven’t been there before, given your book collection.” Helena was the only person Myka had ever met with more books than her. The few times she had been in Helena’s room at the boarding house her bookshelf had been piled high with old and rare volumes from all over the Disc.

“In my time in Ankh-Morpork I always made a point to avoid the University. I could never stand wizards, all pomp and no sense.” Helena replied. “I know some witches up in Lancre that are better magic users than any wizard from UU could ever hope to be.”

The walked the rest of the way back to the Warehouse in a comfortable silence. They had fallen into an easy routine since Helena had been reinstated of missions and patrols through the city looking for artifact activity and late nights spent reading each others’ books. They had grown close, or as close as they could, but sometimes, when Myka saw flashes of darkness and anger in Helena’s eyes, she still wondered about Helena’s intentions. About why she had shown up out of no where after the better part of ten years away from Ankh-Morpork and the Warehouse asking to come back. She trusted Helena with her life, and Helena had made good on that trust every time they went out on a mission, but Myka knew that Artie still didn’t trust her, and Pete had only recently come around. 

Truthfully, Myka wanted to trust Helena, so she gave her the benefit of the doubt, because Helena understood her better than anyone had in a very long time. Pete was like a brother to her, but he didn’t get the way she felt about the Warehouse, how it was her happiest place. He was always looking for a way out, for a way not to end up crazy, evil, or dead, as he was fond of saying. And Artie, she respected Artie, and she could easily see herself dedicating her life to the Warehouse like he had, but she was afraid that she had destroyed that relationship when she had backed Helena’s return.

But Helena understood all of that and more, without her ever having to say it. She knew what it was like to hide scars by pushing people away, to be strong so that she didn’t fall apart, to be so afraid of losing people that she didn’t let anyone in.

Although she hadn’t known Helena for very long, Myka could already feel that the bond they shared ran deep, and she could feel that it could easily become something more if she let it, and that terrified Myka. Because she did see the flashes of anger in Helena’s eyes and the pain that sometimes seemed to consume her, and Myka knew that Helena was far from healed and far from whole.

***

“The Patrician is planning on reopening the Post Office,” Artie said, passing out case files to the collected agents.

“A: Isn’t the Patrician always planning on reopening the Post Office?” Pete asked. “And B: What does that have to do with us?”

“If you had read the file before you started asking questions you would know that the last several Post Masters have died under mysterious circumstances,” Artie explained. “And there have been reports that the Post Office is haunted ever since it closed. The five of you will go investigate and see if there is any artifact activity.”

“The circumstances of the deaths don’t seem very mysterious,” Steve said, flipping though his file. “Two falls, natural causes, and a run in with a BS Johnson mail sorter. They were all ruled accidents. It doesn’t seem like artifact activity, especially considering that it’s an old building."

“Exactly!” Artie replied, obvious exasperated by how slow they all were on the uptake. “Four accidental deaths in five weeks in an old building full of mail? That can’t be a coincidence. Well, except for Mr. Whobblebury. That mail sorter really belongs in the Warehouse, but it can’t be removed from the Post Office without threatening the very fabric of reality.”

“What does the mail have to do with it? Outside of being an outdated form of communication now that we have the clacks?” Claudia asked.

“Words have power,” Myka put in. She had spend enough time in the UU Library to know that much. “That high of a concentration of writing in one place, combined with some sort of artifact? that’s got to be doing something.”

“Precisely!” Artie continued. “That combined with the fact that the Post Office seems to act as a sort of magnet for letters suggest artifact activity. Even now, decades since it’s been operational, any letter you write and fail to deliver has a tendency to end up in the Post Office, which suggests an artifact is amplifying the mail already there and attracting new mail. Needless to say this is all very bad, and it is your jobs to find whatever is causing it, if indeed there is an artifact. And while you’re at it, try and make sure that the new Post Master survives.”

***

“What’s Glom of Nit?” Pete asked.

“Gloom of Night,” Myka explained. “See, the letters are missing. It’s the motto of the Post Office: ‘Neither Rain Nor Snow Nor Gloom of Night Can Stay These Messengers About Their Duty.’ Someone must have taken those letters.”

They were standing outside of the Post Office looking up at imposing stone building. To say that it had once been an impressive building would have been an understatement. The marble façade looked as if it had sparkled in the sun when it was polished, but now it was covered in decades worth of grime and graffiti, with a handful of letters missing from the motto and large chunks of marble missing from several spots.

“Alright, but who’s Mrs. Cake?” Pete asked, pointing towards the notice tacked up underneath the motto that listed the things that should not be asked about.

“A nice old lady,” Helena replied when the rest of them failed to provide an answer. “She owns a boarding house down in the Shades. She’s a bit odd, but not in a stop the post sort of way.”

“Of course you would know her,” Pete grumbled as they made their way into the Post Office. The interior was much like the façade: faded remnants of former greatness. The hall had obvious once been a grand vision in polished marble and shining brass, but most of that was now covered bat guano, and those parts the bats had spared were piled high with letters.

They were greeted by a shriveled looking man dressed in what once looked to have been a Postman’s uniform. “Who are you?” he asked, eyeing their Watch uniforms suspiciously.

“We’re from the Watch. We’re here to look through the old letters for any evidence pertaining to old crimes,” Myka explained. The cover story was weak she knew, and the old postman didn’t look satisfied by it. 

“The mail’s been here for decades, why’s the Watch interested in it all of a sudden?” He asked, attempting to put himself between the agents and the piles of mail, an effort that proved futile due to the sheer amount of the stuff.

“Well, Mr…?” Myka tried again.

“Groat. Junior Postman Groat.”

“Junior Postman? But he’s older than Artie.” Claudia muttered. Myka heard Claudia’s grunt of pain when Steve elbowed her, but it was too late, Groat had obvious heard and looked hurt. 

“Well, Junior Postman Groat,” Myka continued in an attempt to distract the postman from Claudia’s comment. “With the Post Office opening again soon, Commander Vimes thinks that now is a good time to sort through the old mail. So, if you’ll please allow us access to the building, we should only be here for a couple of days.”

“Yes, fine, although it’s going to take the five of you more than a couple of days to go through all the letters.” With that, Groat turned and left them standing in the middle of the hall amidst the mail.

***

“It’s been a week Artie, and we still haven’t found anything,” Myka said into her Farnsworth. Technically they were called Devices for Talking to People a Long Ways Away, another one of Leonard Da Quirm’s inventions, but they had taken to calling them Farnsworths after Da Quirm’s dog instead. “Are you sure this is the best use of our time?" 

Groat had been right. The better part of a week had passed and they had barely made a dent in the mass of mail that filled every nook and cranny of the Post Office, unable to uncover any artifact. They had found, however, that the mail talked. Particularly at night, if one of them opened a letter, it would read itself aloud, the words tracing themselves in the air. 

“Keep looking.” Artie replied, his voice tinny. “Open all the letters in you have to. We can’t have the Post Office reopening with a potentially dangerous artifact inside. Other than the mail sorter.”

“What if there isn’t an artifact? What if it’s just the build up of letters that’s causing this, as if there is so much writing in one place that it’s become an artifact in and of itself?” The more mail they worked through the less convinced Myka was that there was actually an artifact at work.

“Possible but unlikely. The reported effect is stronger than the mail could account for,” Artie replied.

“I don’t know Artie. There’s a lot of mail here.” Myka was unconvinced.

“Yeah,” Pete put in. “There’s mail everywhere, going back sixty years. I didn’t know so many letters had even been written.”

“Just keep looking for the artifact. There haven’t been any other pings that need dealing with, so stay there and keep looking.” With that, Artie closed his Farnsworth, ending the transmission.

“Well, I guess we’re stuck here, reading dead people’s letters. Fun.” Pete said, turning back to the large pile of mail he had been working on. Claudia and Steve were working in the Post Master’s office, in an attempt to keep Post Master Lipwig alive, which was a harder task than it seemed, given Lipwig’s knack at upsetting important people. That left Pete, Myka, and Helena working in the sorting room, where the largest density of letters was. They had found that they could make fairly quick progress if they gave the mail sorter a wide berth.

“So, how are things with Kelly?” Myka asked Pete as they returned to work. She hadn’t heard Pete gushing about his girlfriend lately, which was concerning, because Pete wasn’t one to hide his feelings.

“She dumped me,” Pete answered, obviously trying to keep the hurt from his voice. “Apparently disappearing without explanation for two months to chase werewolves in Überwald is not conducive to a relationship.”

“I’m so sorry Pete. I know you really cared for her.” Myka’s heart hurt for Pete. She knew he struggled with the life of a Warehouse agent. He wanted a family, to settle down without the ever present threat of being killed by an artifact, and Kelly seemed like she might have been a real shot at that for him.

“Yeah. I thought she was going to be my one, you know?” Pete turned away, mindlessly picking up letters in an effort to hide his face from her.

“If you love her that much you should fight for her,” Myka told him. Unbidden, her thoughts went to Helena, and she rubbed the back of her neck self consciously.

“That’s the thing, though, I don’t know if I love her,” Pete turned back to her, a plaintive look on his face. “Never mind. I don’t want to bother you guys with this, it’s not like you can help.”

“Why not?” Myka asked. She couldn’t help but smile at how he was acting like a love-sick puppy.

“Yes, Peter, why not?” Helena put in from behind Myka where she had been working. “I’ll have you know that I do know a thing or two about opposite sex. Many of my lovers were men.” 

Pete dropped the letters he was holding in surprise. Despite her lack of surprise, Myka felt herself turn red and was glad that Pete was distracted.

“We will come back to that comment later,” Pete said, once he had regained himself enough to pick up the letters he had dropped. “Hey, this one’s addressed to you.” Pete picked a letter up off the floor. 

“What?” Helena asked, obviously confused.

“‘HG Wells, Leena’s Boarding house, Scoon Avenue, Ankh-Morpork,’” Pete read. The envelope was dusty, but not as old as many of the others. “It’s dated nearly twelve years ago. Weird.”

“It must be the effects of the mail sorter.” Myka said, trying to explain the insane coincidence. “It warps space to attract otherwise lost letters, even once the Post Office stopped operating.”

“Well, give it here then,” Helena said, making a grab at the letter, but Pete pulled it out of her reach.

“Let’s see what it says.” Pete tore open the envelope before Helena could take it from him, and the letter fell open onto the piles of mail. The words started to trace themselves in the air, and a voice filled the room. A voice that seemed familiar to Myka, although she couldn’t place it.

“Old Friend,

The preparations have been made and everything is in place. Now all we must do is wait for the island to rise again to find the key. If I am right, that should occur sometime in the next several years. Patience is all that is required now.

Yours,

James”

As the voice read out the final words, Myka knew where she had heard it before. It had belonged to a shadowy figure in the Pork Future’s Warehouse. She didn’t know why MacPherson had sent Helena a letter twelve years ago, but she was sure there was a reasonable explanation. There had to be.

“Forgive me.” Helena had turned away from them, her voice thick with something that sounded an awful lot like regret.

“For what?” Myka asked.

Helena turned around. She was holding something that looked a lot like the Leonard. The last thing Myka remembered was the hard, cold look in Helena’s eyes as she pulled the trigger.


End file.
